Hetalia Writing Practice Collection
by YuGiOhGirl4ever
Summary: This is a collection of short story writing practices with Hetalia characters. Multiple AU's such as human au, vampire au and others. Rated for language, violence and other elements. Don't worry, you'll be warned before each of them.
1. Brother

Hello readers! Welcome to my collection of Hetalia themed short story writing practices! Isn't that a mouthful! I won't keep you with this little note (that's why I put it here instead of taking up a chapter (that annoys me sometimes nowadays)). These are writing practices, therefore they aren't the best and they aim to improve my writing. But to do so I need comments! Anything will do! Even a "I like this!" will suffice. Even a "I don't like this because..." or "I really don't like this character" is accepted! Feel free to correct me on anything in each story. I like it when I'm proved wrong about something. Why? Because I love learning! Just remember to be respectful in your commenting. No one likes hurt feelings. I also encourage questions about the writing, where I got my information and suggestions on what to write next. If you do give me ideas, I will mention you in the story practice I write about it! Lastly, most of these will contain horrible titles. If you have a better title, suggest it and receive an imaginary cookie of your choice!

Now the first short story: Brother

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Note: Somewhat edited short story exercise (I have edited it but I'm only human). May contain grammatical errors and the like. Contains violence, blood and vampires… and little to no research. Read at your own discretion.

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Fog hung low on the ground, casting an eerie feel to the wooded area. It was already a dark day, in every sense of the word. Clouds caused the entire earth for miles to be cast in a shadow, rain already dampening the ground earlier that day and causing that chill in the air. But worst of all, he could still hear the battle raging on, echoing around him. He couldn't even tell if he was even still running away from it. He ran blindly, out of fear and pain. He did not want to die. Especially not on the battlefield.

The young soldier named Alfred F. Jones had barely turned eighteen when he had enlisted. He remembered how proud his father had been and how worried his mother still was. Alfred's father was dead now. He'd been shot off his horse this morning when the fighting began. None of Alfred's friend fared any better. Most of them had been taken out by cannonballs… a sight that would haunt Alfred for the rest of his life, he was sure. It had seemed so glamorous before, just like the games of war he played as a child back home. But he was miles from home and now he doubted he would ever make it back unless he went in a wooden box.

Alfred paused, leaning against a tree. He panted, shivering as he continued to hear the sounds of yelling, screaming, gunshots and cannon fire. With a small sound of pain he lifted the land from his abdomen. Blue eyes continued to tear up as he stared down at the blood coating his hand. Quickly he put his hand back over his wound, hissing as he applied pressure. He didn't think it would do much good anyway. He could feel the effects of blood loss on his body. His actions were slowed, staggering, and he could barely see straight. Which way… was safety again? Alfred couldn't remember as he breathed harder, hyperventilating slightly.

Alfred limped on, wandering almost aimlessly forward. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, making him feel so cold and feel more pain. Just a little bit more, he was sure, and then he'd find his way to help. That field hospital had to be close… surely it was set up yet? He didn't know, didn't care. He just needed something to keep his feet moving.

Alfred silently cursed the south, cursed every last Confederate soldier out there. He should have stayed home with his mother and his young brothers. Sure, he'd have to endure that disappointed look from his father before he'd left, but he wouldn't have gotten shot at home. But the promises of keeping his home and family safe, promises of keeping the nation together that his forefathers had fought so hard for one hundred years earlier… those had encouraged him further to come hundreds of miles from home to learn to march and fight like a soldier.

The air around him was silent, interrupted every so often by a thundering sound in the distance… the cannons so far away. Alfred took another moment to rest. He smiled wearily. Maybe, just maybe he'd live. The thought sent another course of adrenaline through his veins. He'd lost his gun, but that was an acceptable loss in exchange for living.

A twig snapped, sending Alfred's head up. He froze, like a rabbit in the clearing, eyes darting around for the predator. Alfred pressed himself harder against the tree, trying to calm his breathing and to not cry out from his injury, which throbbed even harder. His eyes caught a flash of red, dulled by spots of dirt and years of not washing properly. But it was gone as quickly as it came, leading Alfred to wonder if he was hallucinating instead.

'Calm down, Alfred. Just keep moving. You'll be alright soon.' He thought.

Glancing down at the red staining his hand and blue jacket, Alfred stepped away from the tree. Again a twig snapped but this time silence didn't follow it. Alfred whirled around at the sound of a surprised yell, one full of fear. For a moment, Alfred's eyes locked onto a face as young as his. The other boy's eyes were wide and terrified, wild. Blood splattered that probably wasn't his own splattered his uniform… his grey uniform. Alfred's eyes widened even more as the young man's gun was swiftly raised and shakily aimed. Alfred's hands came up. He wasn't armed! He couldn't shoot him if he wasn't armed!

"W-Wait!"

But he didn't. Alfred heard the deafening shot just barely before he felt it. His breath caught as the bullet, a .58 caliber round, tore into his chest. His arms flailed, trying to catch hold of anything that could stop his fall, but found nothing to grab onto. He hit the ground hard, landing on his back. Instantly he coughed, lungs filling with blood. If the first wound had been painful, this was even more excruciating.

Alfred couldn't tell if the young man was still there, however he guessed that he had run away as there wasn't a third bullet being put into his body. Blood bubbled past his lips, warmer than he felt. His blue eyes rolled heavenward. Please God, he prayed, don't let me die now. Alfred wasn't ready. He was far too afraid to die. But worst of all, he didn't want to die here. Not on the cold wet ground, alone.

Alfred tried to roll onto his front, legs and arms working to crawl on the ground. He hurt and he was afraid. He kept praying as he coughed, splattering the muddy ground with his blood. He couldn't give up, not now. Tears streamed down his face, his emotions further suffocating him.

Somewhere, he was too confused to tell where, he heard footsteps. Blindly he crawled in their general direction, hoping and praying that it was a friendly face. Someone who could help him, save him. Alfred's arms and legs gave out, making him lay on the ground. He struggled to get air into his lungs, only causing panicked gags and coughs to come out instead.

Someone crouched down in front of him, but all he could see were scuffled boots. He heard a sound suspiciously like "tsk", like an adult chastising a child when they'd hurt themselves doing something very stupid. Alfred tried to lift his head, only just barely managing to lift it a few inches. His blurred vision caught greyed pants and a dark red and black uniform jacket he'd never seen before. Gold buttons were tarnished on the front and on the black cuffs. Alfred could barely make out messy blond hair. But what frightened Alfred were the man's eyes. They were bright red.

"What a shame… a lad as young as you dying this way. War is… such a terrible thing." The man said, large brows rising as he gave Alfred a look of pity.

The accent sounded foreign and Alfred couldn't place it. He'd never met someone with a British accent before. Before the war, Alfred had never even ventured from the area surrounding his home in the Midwest. He'd never even been out of his state before. A pale hand reached forward and began gently smoothing out Alfred's blond hair, as if comforting a younger brother who'd only had a nightmare. The hand was ice cold, the feeling easily seeping through his hair and into his skin. The pitying look changed to curiosity as the man watched Alfred's lips move, trying to speak but only managing choked sounds.

"P…please…h…h…help m…me…" Alfred tried to say, despite his fear.

The man gently turned Alfred onto his back, resting his torso against his legs and torso. One hand caressed the side of Alfred's face in a comforting manner as the other ventured to his wounds. Never once did he touch Alfred's wounds, choosing to jerk his hand back just short of the blood as if it would burn him.

"Oh… these are quite bad…" he said.

Fatal. Alfred could just barely hear the words yet he knew what he was meaning. Alfred was going to die. There was nothing he could do about it. The stranger chuckled humorlessly.

"What a mess I've gotten myself into. I came here looking for a meal and instead I find a lost boy. I must be going soft." The man said closing his eyes.

Alfred let out a series of gasps as breathing became harder and harder. The man's hands came to Alfred's shoulders as his eyes opened again.

"Shhhh, shhhh. It's alright, lad. It will be over soon. Let your elder brother help you." He said, reaching a hand to unbutton the blue Jacket.

The man unbuttoned each button quickly until Alfred's neck was exposed. His red eyes stared down at the younger man's neck, fingertips gently brushing against the skin, feeling the weak and erratic heartbeat beneath. He let out a shaky breath as he felt his self-control wane a little. He shifted the limp body into his arms as he leaned over him.

"Elder brother will fix this, make it go away. You'll be right in just a moment. Hang on just a little more." He said softly, after swallowing hard.

Suddenly the man opened his mouth, revealing long sharp fangs no human being should have had. He bit into Alfred's neck, making him open his mouth to cry in pain but not having enough breath to make a sound. Alfred felt weaker and weaker as more blood left his body. Darkness began to creep around the edges of his vision and he felt his grasp on reality start to slip away faster and faster. Then all at once, the man released his neck. He came back up, breathing hard, a small stream of blood… Alfred's blood, dripping from the corner of his mouth. The man wiped it away before hastily pushing his sleeve up.

There was urgency now in his movements and no hesitation anymore. He bit into his wrist, tearing at his flesh until his own cold and dead blood dripped down his forearm. Shifting his hold on Alfred again, he held up almost upright and brought his bleeding wrist to his mouth. Alfred was too far gone to struggle let alone even notice the ghastly sight. The man allowed his blood to drip into Alfred's mouth. He growled as it just sat there, Alfred not having the strength or the awareness to swallow as he wanted him to. He tore his wrist away from the unresponsive man's mouth and began messaging his throat with his hand, urging him to swallow. Finally Alfred did, though choking slightly. The man stopped, satisfied that the majority of it had been swallowed.

The man wiped Alfred's mouth with his sleeve, ignoring his own bleeding wrist which had slowed considerably. Then he gathered him in his arms and held him closely, humming an old lullaby, again treating Alfred gently as if he were family. He might have well have been after this. He brushed his fingers through the younger man's hair as he began to shake, coughing more violently as the blood began to affect his body. Alfred's hands suddenly grabbed hold of one of the man's arms, gripping it like a lifeline as his heart began to struggle.

Alfred let out a choked scream, kicking out his feet in an attempt to ward off the sudden influx in pain. His whole body felt as though he was being burned alive and torn apart, all at the same time. Breathing hurt, even though it was starting to become less difficult. He could feel his teeth growing into fangs, just like the man's had been. His eyes snapped open, red rapidly engulfing blue. He continued to writhe for a bit more before he stilled. He sucked in unneeded breath as the man holding him whispered comforting words Alfred couldn't understand. His throat felt dry, burning even, and his stomach felt so hallow, as if he hadn't eaten in days. But at least he couldn't feel the cold anymore. He couldn't even feel the icy fingers brushing through his hair.

"W…w…who…? W…wh…wha…what d…did… you…?"

The man continued to hold the younger man, though a fond smile was now on his face.

"I'm your elder brother, don't you remember, Alfred? I'm Arthur." He said gently.

Alfred let out a shaky breath. No… he didn't remember… he couldn't remember anything. What was he doing here? Arthur… his elder brother… that seemed familiar. It must have been true.

"You were hurt, so I helped you. But enough about that. It's in the past; you don't need to think about that pain anymore." Arthur said.

Alfred nodded and then winced as his throat throbbed. He sat up, Arthur reluctantly releasing him. He rubbed his throat, wincing more.

"What's wrong, lad?" Arthur said, though the glint in his eyes told he knew exactly what was ailing the younger.

Arthur was much older than Alfred, much older. He had almost a hundred years of experience. His turning was quite similar to the younger man's. He too had been injured in a battle. Though back then he remembered a lot more about what the war had been about. Now he didn't seem to remember… or he didn't care. It didn't matter if his original side had lost the war, granting the new nation independence. All that mattered to him now was survival… ah, his survival and now the survival of the boy he'd just turned away from humanity.

"I-I'm thirsty, brother. Wh-Why?" Alfred said.

Alfred eyed the blood covering his hands hungrily. Arthur stood and held out his hand to Alfred. Alfred took it and stood.

"Come on. You need to feed; you've been through a lot and need blood now. Let's go find something for you to eat. There are plenty of wounded at the battlefield, no one will notice once it's dark." Arthur cooed.

Alfred nodded, the idea making sense in his newly altered mind. He followed Arthur as he ran toward the sounds of the battle still going on, yet starting to wane. He didn't remember that it wasn't long ago that he was fleeing that very battle. He trusted Arthur, completely, and his thirst couldn't be ignored.


	2. Assassin

Assassin

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Warnings: Swearing, blood and violence.

I used Google Translate for the Spanish and Italian words as I do not speak either. I took Spanish in High school but disliked the teacher so much that it never stuck. So please, if anyone who reads this can speak either, feel free to correct me so that I can fix it. I know that each time I entered something into the translator, something different popped up for the translation. This is based on the idea of Assassin's creed and Assassin's Creed 2. I have only played a small bit and then watched someone play (I like Etzio!). I hope no one gets offended by this if they are fans of the game. If you wish to have more of this, like the previous story, please comment. I wouldn't mind going into what happens to Feliciano as well as Lovino and Antonio. (This was originally going to be a full fanfiction... but then I lost the plot.) Again: if you have a better title, let me know! This one was all I could think of...

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The night was calm, serenely ordinary. Through the open window, the sounds of the guards on patrol and the occasional drunkard filtered into the dark room. The moon shone in through the window illuminating a large bed containing two young boys. One was fast asleep, clinging tightly to his older brother by only two years while he lay wide awake, staring up at the ceiling with an irritated expression on his young face.

Many had commented how close the two boys resembled each other, to the point of being almost twins. But Lovino, the elder, was eight… or at least he would be the next day, with an attitude and toughness belonging to a teenager. Feliciano, the younger, was six… with a cutely innocent personality to match. In addition, Lovino had darker brown hair while Feliciano's was light, like his amber eyes. Lovino's eyes were green. But both had the signature curls of the Vargas family, Lovino's a long and wide curl on the upper right of his head, while Feliciano's was smaller on the lower left. Newer people tended to get them confused, something that would almost enrage Lovino and earn the unfortunate person a head-butt to the gut or shins.

Lovino loved his brother, do not get him wrong. But he was different from him, far different, and he would go to great lengths to show this and to prove himself. Despite being older, people tended to prefer the company of Feliciano because of how cute he was. Lovino would cause too much trouble and was too loud, they would say. It bothered him, a lot. On his birthday, however, it was far different. On that day he would get the respect he deserved. If he wasn't grumpy from not getting enough sleep.

Feliciano let out soft snores, cuddling closer to his elder brother. The younger boy had a room of his own, inside it a bed of his own. But it was too scary in there for him to sleep. It had always been this way, since he was younger. So he slept in his elder brother's room. He would feel safe there and fall asleep quickly. But he'd never clung this badly to Lovino.

And that window. Lovino hated having it open. It let in the cold air and the noises from the city bothered him. But no one could say no to Feliciano. He had unknowingly mastered that… look. His eyes would get big and watery and his lower lip would quiver. It was impossible to resist. So Lovino had opened the window for him. And now the moonlight was staring him right in the face.

Every once in a while, Lovino would have these kinds of nights where everything kept him awake. Perhaps…

Lovino wiggled out of his brother's grasp. The younger started whimpering in his sleep, fingers flexing as though trying to seek out his brother again for comfort. Lovino slipped a pillow in the space his body had occupied and instantly Feliciano grabbed it, clinging tightly around it with arms and legs. Lovino replaced the blanket back over his brother's small body. Because he didn't want the other to get sick, he reasoned in his mind. Not because he didn't want him uncomfortable. No, he'd never admit to caring that much.

With this done, Lovino crept out of his room and into the hall. The candles were still lit, meaning it wasn't as late as he had thought. 'Nonno should still be in his study then!' he thought eagerly, grinning as he hurried as quietly as he could in that direction. Occasionally he'd hide behind a stand holding a vase or dart into the niche behind a statue. But after the fourth one, he walked out into the middle of the hallway, the smile sliding off his face. He looked around, mystified at how empty the hall was. Normally there would be one or two guards patrolling, as his Nonno or grandfather was a rather paranoid man at times, or most certainly one of their two live-in servants. But it was devoid of everyone, sending an unpleasant shiver up his spine.

Lovino scowled, walking on. He wasn't scared, he swore it! He was just cold as the only thing he wore was the long night shirt he wore to bed. Still… he'd feel a lot better if he could just get to his grandfather. As he got closer to his destination, turning a corner, he heard something strange. It sounded like something had broken… followed by a thump. As he crept forward, Lovino could see the door to his grandfather's study was open a crack, allowing light to spill into the darker hallway.

Lovino didn't open the door further. Instead he peered through the crack, eyes widening at what he saw. His grandfather, his strong grandfather who even at his old age could still wield a blade with deadly accuracy and force was on the floor, clutching a bleeding arm. His sword had been knocked from his hands and blood covered his clothes, even dripping down from a gash over his left eye, forcing him to shut it. Lovino's eyes traveled to his grandfather's assailant. It was a man, much younger, dressed in an odd white robe with a hood that covered his face. He held a bloodied sword to Lovino's grandfather's throat.

"It seems that you are not as tough as rumors would lead me to believe, old man." The man said, accent Italian.

Lovino's grandfather growled, his amber eyes almost glowing in rage. Without a word he batted the sword away and dove for his own blade. He jumped to his feet, a little unsteady from his wounds.

"Who sent you? Speak assassin! Before I send you before your God!" he yelled.

Lovino was frightened, too frightened to even move let alone assure himself that he wasn't really afraid. He had never seen his grandfather like this. His grandfather was a happy, air headed man who ran after woman and drank! He'd heard stories of the old man's younger days, when he fought wars and was a truly frightening force to behold. And never in his life had Lovino seen his grandfather wounded. The sight of blood made Lovino want to cry.

The assassin rushed at the oldest Vargas and swung his sword. Surprised by the bold move, Lovino's grandfather easily blocked. He didn't have time to react as a hidden blade sliced into his chest, hidden in the assassin's bracer. The sword fell from the old man's grip as he felt his life drain away.

The assassin lowered the old man to the floor, as though he cared for him. He leaned over him.

"Many want you dead, Romulus. Few have enough courage to act. By the end of tonight, your name and the name of every Vargas will be stripped of everything. Die in peace… you old fool." He said in a low voice.

He stood up, robes rustling as he sheathed his sword. He turned to leave. At that moment Lovino was startled by the appearance of his grandfather's blood on the man's robe. He let out a little gasp, already frightened by the scene of his grandfather's murder, and fell back onto his rear. He scuttled backward as the door was swung open.

"It appears a little bambino (child) has wandered far from his bed this night. Seen and heard that which he should not have." The assassin said, advancing on the fallen boy.

Lovino made little whimpers, his eyes wide as the assassin's hidden blade came out once again from his bracer. He couldn't see the man's eyes but his mouth was upturned in a cruel smirk.

"D-don't k-kill m-m-me! P-Please!" Lovino pleaded, his voice higher in fright.

A sudden scream made him turn his head. The night was no longer quiet.

"M-mother?"

"Hmm, seems as though the others decided to not trust that I would get the job done. Do not worry, piccolo (little one). A death by my hand is far more painless than the by the hand of a murderous mob of mercenaries and soldiers. I will make it swift." The assassin said.

The assassin leaped onto him, pinning Lovino to the ground. Lovino kicked and screamed as the Assassin's arm rose high, poised to strike. Lovino screamed loudly.

Suddenly the assassin was shoved off of the little boy. Lovino pressed himself up against the wall, knees to his chest and arms thrown over his head.

"No Ennio!" a new voice shouted.

Lovino cracked open his eyes and found himself staring at a second man in white robes. Another assassin, he guessed. He whimpered. Now there were two. He sent a prayer to God. If he survived this, he wouldn't leave his brother in bed alone again. And he might just pay more attention during mass on Sundays.

"Get out of the way, Antonio! He has seen and heard too much!" the first, Ennio, yelled, motioning with a sharp sweep of his arm.

"No! Ennio, tonto (you fool)! This is not our way! We cannot kill children! You know this! Yet you are prepared to soak your blade in his blood? Que Dios se apiade de su alma, incluso para pensar en esto! (May God have mercy on your soul for even thinking of this!)" Antonio said, his accent and language that of Spain.

Ennio, whose hood had fallen off when he had been shoved, grit his teeth. His eyes were a smoldering grey, like storm clouds. They were just as cold too as he stared at his fellow assassin. His hand found his way to his sword.

"Listen to me! You must stop this now! Leave these people to sort out their own feud. The brotherhood has no hand in this fight. No one has to know of your part in it." Antonio said urgently.

"No you listen! The others may view me as a traitor but my eyes have opened! I see the truth! This path will lead us to glory! No longer will we be forced to hide like criminals!" Ennio said.

Antonio shook his head.

"Glory? More like war, mi hermano (my brother)! There is no honor in this! All it will bring is death and dishonor. To both sides. To us! Come back with me. Our master is reasonable and will offer forgiveness!" he said.

"Your master you mean! He is not mine, Antonio. He is the very source of our order's corruption! He will be next to die under the new order! My Order! But first, you shall die first!" Ennio shouted.

Antonio was quick to pull out his sword as the other man drew his and swung at him. They exchanged blows, never once drawing blood from either. At some point, Antonio's hood fell off his head, revealing bright green eyes, brighter than Lovino's, and dark brown hair. It wasn't long before a certain smell reached Lovino's nose.

Smoke started drifting into the hallway and Lovino knew all too well what this meant. Fire. The manor was on fire. Lovino's eyes snapped to the other end of the hallway. His brother was still in their room. How he could sleep through it all, Lovino could only guess. Lovino had to save him.

Lovino started crawling past the two fighting men, the rug laid on the wood floor rubbing against his knees in a way that left uncomfortable burns on them. His arms and legs shook, threatening to give out on him in his panic.

The manor was burning quickly, the fire spreading easily through the wood and tapestries on the walls in other rooms. Lovino couldn't tell where it had been started at but he could guess it was somewhere below them on the lower level. The air was beginning to grow hot as he crawled, meaning its location was close. Lovino came to a dead stop as he turned the corner in the hall, coughing slightly.

His eyes widened once again as he saw the floor had collapsed and flames were licking at the ceiling, blocking his way to his brother. But worst of all, it blocked the only stairs down to the first level.

"Feliciano! Fratello (brother)!" Lovino yelled, staying on the floor away from the smoke.

Suddenly he felt someone grab a hold of the back of his shirt, hoisting him into the air before being tucked under an arm. Lovino looked up and began struggling as he saw the assassin. The hood was back up, keeping him from being able to tell if it had been the man who had saved him or the man who had murdered his grandfather.

"Stop that, I am trying to save you." The man scolded.

It was the man who had saved him, the Spaniard. Lovino still struggled.

"No! Take me back! My fratello is still in there!" Lovino cried.

Antonio kicked in a door and ran into the room, coughing. Since he was not listening, and since head-butting him would have been impossible in his situation, Lovino bit down on the arm, just above the bracer. Antonio let out a pained yelp.

"Ay (ouch)! Come on! Don't bite me! Would you rather die like everyone else? If the fire doesn't kill you the mob will! Niño loco… (Crazy little boy..)" Antonio said.

Lovino abruptly released his teeth from the Spaniard's arm. He looked up at the man, his eyes filling with tears. Instantly Antonio regretted his choice of words.

"D-Dead?"

Antonio nodded solemnly. He put the boy down on his feet in front of the window. He knelt down, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Listen to me, pequeño (little one). Everything will be alright, I promise you. You will live but only if you trust me. Everyone else is… no longer suffering. They are with God now." Antonio tried.

The assassin seemed to struggle with his words, an unusual thing indeed. He was used to being blunt, if not a little naive sounding with a tad of air-headedness that threw off anyone not used to him. Despite loving children, the assassin didn't know how to comfort one that had just lost their family. He was much better at running around with them and telling them stories of adventure and heroes. Luckily, Lovino seemed more mature that he had originally given him credit for. The young boy just nodded, blinking back tears and sniffling. Antonio smiled a grin full of teeth.

"Bueno (Good)! Now, you'll have to ride on my back. I need both hands to climb. We'll need to be quick to get you out without the mob seeing. They'll think you died in the fire if we succeed." He said.

He rose from kneeling into a position where he sat on his haunches. He turned, pivoting on the balls of his feet. Lovino quickly climbed onto his back, wrapping his arms around the assassin's neck, gripping the white fabric tightly in his fists, and his feet as much as he could around the man's hips. It wasn't easy. He was worn out already from the amount he had just been through. Without warning Antonio stood up, nearly causing the boy to lose his grip. The man looked over his shoulder.

"Hold on tightly now. It'll be scary for a bit, but I promise not to drop you. Just don't let go." He said.

Lovino nodded, feeling confidence drifting off the man and giving him his own confidence. Smoke was starting to fill up the room, trying to escape through the open window, as Antonio climbed out of the window. Silently his feet hit the clay tiled roof and he instantly took off running across the sloped surface. Lovino shivered, feeling cold wind blow at them as the man ran, no longer feeling the heat from the fire. Lovino buried his face into the man's robe, not wanting to look back at his burning home. Without seeing where they were going, Lovino's stomach dropped out as he felt the man leap from the roof. Lovino let out a little cry as his head snapped up. Luckily their fall wasn't far as Antonio grabbed hold of another roof nearby, pulling himself easily up over the ledge. He didn't even pause as he started running again.

Lovino whimpered, not daring to look down at the streets as they ran across rooftops. Below them, far below them, people were running around in a panic and mercenaries and soldiers alike were shouting. Some of the soldiers seemed to not be a part of the mob, having been loyal to the Vargas family, and actually tried to fight off the traitors. They were outnumbered.

Antonio ran across a rope tied from one roof top to another, taut enough to allow a tightrope. Antonio's eyes searched for soldiers on the rooftops. He needed to get out of the city. It would be even more difficult now that he had a passenger that was more of a fugitive than he was at the moment. Antonio swore as he saw an archer. The man hadn't seen him yet, so Antonio leapt into an ally way, dropping silently to his feet. Antonio stood up, straightening as he cautiously made his way to the corner. He peered out, darting back into the shadow as people ran past.

The gate was right there. Many people were trying to get out, fearing the fire that was quickly spreading to other buildings and fearing that they had been invaded. Antonio pulled back into the ally. His eyes darted around. Now how could he get the boy out? If it were just him, he could easily blend into the fleeing people.

"Climb down for un momento (a moment)." Antonio said, squatting low again.

Lovino climbed down and instantly Antonio stood back up.

"Wait here a moment. If someone comes in here other than me, run and hide. I will find you." He said.

He turned to leave but a small hand shot out and grabbed hold of his robe. Antonio looked down at the boy. Lovino's eyes were overflowing with tears, looking rather pathetic as he let out a little scared sob.

"D-don't leave me alone, bastardo (bastard)!" he said.

Antonio put a gloved hand on the boy's head. He smiled.

"I won't. I will be nearby. You trust me, si? You won't be alone long. I promise." He said.

Lovino looked as though threatening to let out a wail. But he didn't.

"Nonno promised he wouldn't die until fratello and I were men! But he's dead! Everyone's dead! You're going to leave me and-and I will be dead too!" he whimpered instead.

"No, pequeño. An assassin's word is his life. When I give it to you, I'd sooner let myself be killed than to betray it." Antonio said.

Lovino let go of the man's robe. He wiped at the tears.

"Th-then if you don't come back, you better die!" he said.

Antonio nodded. He kept himself from laughing. He liked this kid, a lot. Quickly he leapt up, using the uneven bricks and a windowsill to pull himself up onto the roof again. Lovino sat down on the dusty ground, pressing his back against the wall and pulling his knees to his chest. He shivered again, eyes darting around. Oh how he wished this was all a bad dream. He wished to close his eyes and when he opened them find himself in bed with his brother, morning light streaming in through the open window on the day they celebrated his birth.

Lovino didn't know how long it was he was alone. It felt like eternity before a form dropped down from above, startling him. It turned out to be Antonio, the assassin smiling cheerfully despite the situation. In his hand was what looked like a sheet, but it was covered in spots by fresh blood.

"Lo siento, pequeño (I am sorry, little one). I took so long but I found the perfect disguise for you." The Spaniard said.

"You bastardo! What took so long?" Lovino demanded, "And stop calling me that! My name is Lovino! Lovino Vargas! Don't you go forgetting that!"

The Spaniard let out a little laugh. He knelt down and putt he sheet around the boy's shoulders before covering his head with it like a Hood, making sure to cover all of his Brown hair and his eyes. Lovino grimaced as he felt the blood soaking through onto his skin.

"Lo siento, lo siento. I will remember that poco jefe (Little boss)." Antonio said.

He picked the boy up and stood. His face grew serious.

"Now listen carefully. Stay very still, like you are injured. You mustn't say a word or both of us will be killed. We're going to walk out through the gate right under their noses. If I pinch you, you must act hurt, whimper a little but not too loudly." He said.

Lovino nodded and did as he was told. Antonio ran out into the street, holding the boy close to his chest. He needed to blend in with the mass of people trying to push through the gates. He wiggled and pushed forward until both of them seemed to disappear. Using his strength to his advantage, Antonio was soon able to push to the front. The guards kept them from going further, intent on finding any Vargas still breathing.

"Halt! What child is this?" a guard barked out.

"Per favore, signore! (Please, sir!) Mia figlia (My daughter) is very injured! She will surely die if I do not get her help!" Antonio said, imitating an Italian accent flawlessly.

Antonio pinched Lovino and Lovino, too scared out of his mind to feel angry at being called a girl, let out a high pitched whimper. The guard seemed to buy it. Besides, this man looked like one of the scholars in the next town over. They would never lie, right? The guard stepped aside, allowing them through before turning back to his search. Antonio jogged until he was a good distance away. Then he broke out at a run as he heard a shout from the gate.

"Stop the assassin! Stop him!"

Antonio brought his fingers to his mouth and let out a whistle. A horse whinnied as it trotted toward them. Antonio jumped onto its back, quickly settling Lovino in front of him on the horse's bare back.

"HIYAH!" Antonio shouted, spurring the horse into action along with a sharp slap of the reigns and a sharp nudge of his foot.

Catching a prepared assassin on horseback was not something easily done. It was no surprise as the guards were soon far behind. But Antonio did not stop; he spurred the horse on, maintaining a tight grip on his passenger. For a long time, Lovino kept his tight grip as well. But the quiet countryside soon lulled away the fear he had felt before.

"I am going to fall off!" Lovino yelled.

"You are not going to fall off. Just keep holding on tight." Antonio said, brow furrowed in concentration.

Lovino's grip tightened but he continued to complain. He eyed the ground rushing past them.

"I am! I am! I am going to fall off anyway!" Lovino hissed loudly.

Antonio rolled his eyes, choosing to keep his mouth shut rather than mutter annoyed at how much of a brat this boy was. And he had looked so cute before! What a spoilt brat! Antonio slowed the horse to a walk. The poor beast panted, sides heaving and covered in sweat. Antonio spoke smooth, soothing words to the tired horse, apologizing for working it so hard and thanking it for getting them to safety. They weren't out of this yet, however. They were still on the road and any moment they could have anyone stumble upon them, especially those who wanted the boy dead.

Suddenly Antonio led the horse off the road toward a thick wooded area before dismounting, with Lovino still clinging to him. Antonio shifted his grip so that he could hold onto both Lovino in one hand and the horse's reigns in the other. Silently he led them further in before hastily tying the horse to a tree.

"You're just going to leave it here?!" Lovino said in disbelief.

"It will be faster and easier on foot." Antonio said.

Lovino sputtered.

"H-How so? Bastardo! A horse is much faster!" Lovino said.

Antonio, now tired and feeling every bruise and wound from his many fights from that night, sighed. He had to keep his patience and he was a very patient man. He attempted a somewhat lopsided smile, though it was so small it nearly didn't exist at all.

"A horse can only go so far in the woods, Lovino. And our pursuers will be looking for us on a horse. On the road. They will not expect us to go through the woods in the dark. Someone will retrieve the horse so it will not be found. Confía en mí, poco jefe. (Trust me, little boss.)" Antonio said.

Lovino growled and started kicking. With a sigh Antonio put him back on his feet. Immediately the boy dusted himself off… and proceeded to ram his head into Antonio like a projectile. He hit right on his mark, Antonio's unprotected abdomen above the many tools and weapons on his belt, causing the air to rush out of the Spaniard. Antonio stumbled, gripping his stomach. He regained his balance and looked at the boy in disbelief.

"Ay! What was that for?!" Antonio indignantly shrieked, forgetting that he was supposed to be quiet.

Lovino kicked Antonio's shin, making the other grab it and start hopping around. Antonio let out little cries of pain as he hopped. Lovino put his hands on his hips, scowl on his young face.

"Bastardo! I can't understand you when you speak Spagnolo! (Spanish!) Speak Italiano (Italian) or not at all!" he ordered.

"But that really hurt! You can't just go around hurting people! Spoilt little brat!" Antonio whined.

Lovino stomped his foot on the hard ground, eyes almost glowing in his rage.

"What was that!" he spat.

Antonio took a step back. He had never known any child to be so intimidating when he was throwing a fit like this! And his hits were hard! Not wanting another hit… or God forbid another bite, Antonio spoke quickly, waving his hands in a dismissing gesture in front of him.

"Nothing! Nothing!" he said.

"That's what I thought!" Lovino said.

For a moment, Antonio was tempted to just leave. To let the child just find his own way out of this situation, leave him in the woods. He was far more mature, and he used that term lightly, than any child he had ever known to come from a rich family. He could take care of himself. But Antonio remembered something, something important. In his mind's eye he could picture a boy about Lovino's age wandering alone in the rain. Looking pitiful and alone. Lovino wasn't much different from that boy. His family was dead. His home was gone. That serene and perfect world, that sheltered world, had been proven to only be an illusion. The perfect dream was shattered and now he couldn't go home. He could never go home again, not with a price on his head. One person. That was all it took. If one person recognized his young face, it would be over for him.

Lovino seemed to be caught off guard as Antonio's goofy yet pained expression melted into a soft look. He didn't know whether to get angry at the Spaniard for looking at him with pity or cry. So he just stood there, waiting.

"What do I do with you now?" Antonio asked, mostly to himself.

He put his hood down and rand his fingers through his hair. What to do…

"Do you have any other family? Perhaps somewhere far in the countryside? Away from the cities?" Antonio asked.

Lovino looked away.

"No. The only family I had left was Nonno, mother and-and my Fratello. Everyone else is dead." Lovino said.

It was the truth. His father had died when Lovino was too young to remember him. His only aunt had died of a fever two summers ago. One of his uncles had been murdered and the other had been in an accident where he had been trampled by a horse. Lovino… had no one. That thought alone brought the young boy to tears. He was all alone now. What would become of him? Would he die to? Would it… be better that way? He had escaped death. Perhaps it would have been better to join his loved ones in death.

"I see… Lo siento… (I'm sorry…) I…" Antonio said.

He coughed as the boy shot him a glare. He didn't want sympathy. Antonio understood. He understood it well.

"In that case… ah…"

Why was it so hard to think of what to do? That face, that crying face was making it hard to think of a plan. Suddenly Antonio found his robe being clamped onto by Lovino. The young boy sobbed into his robe.

"Do-Don't you dare leave me! I-I'll go with you, you-you bastardo! I-I don't c-care where you go! I am g-going with you!" Lovino cried.

Antonio's surprised face melted into a soft look. He smoothed out the boy's hair, making his curl bob.

"Do not cry, pequeño (little one). I… you can come with me. I promise." Antonio said.

Antonio picked Lovino up easily. For a moment he looked around to get his bearings. Once he was sure of the directions, Antonio started walking.

"It will take a few hours to get back home. Try to sleep a little. I know my shoulder isn't so comfy, but it has to do until I can get you to a proper bed." Antonio said.

Lovino looked at him with a questioning look.

"Where's that, Bastardo?" he asked.

"My home… is in the order's headquarters. You'll be lucky, not many outsiders get to see it unless they're intending to join or are a part of a mission." Antonio said with a laugh.

Lovino was silent for a moment. Then slowly he spoke.

"Then… I… I will become an assassin too." He said.

Lovino waited for the other to argue against it. To say that he couldn't be an assassin. That he was only a spoilt brat from a rich family and couldn't amount to anything else.

"Hm, becoming an assassin is hard work, pequeño. It takes years and years of training, both physically and in study. You must be absolutely sure of this, Lovino. You cannot back out if it gets rough." Antonio said, looking off in the direction they were headed.

"Do not count me as some quitter! I do not back out of things just because they "get rough"! I'll do it! And I will do it better than you!" Lovino said, tempted to punch the Spaniard carrying him.

Antonio laughed.

"That's the spirit, el jeffe (boss)! I know you can do it." He said.

Lovino let out a little "Hmph!" sticking his lip out in a pout. He lay his head down on Antonio's shoulder; trying to keep a yawn in. he failed and let out a long yawn.

"But you must teach me your stupid language. I don't want you to call me something behind my back that I don't know what it means." Lovino said.

"Si, si. I'll do that." Antonio said.

* * *

A/N: Oh... my... God... I killed Grandpa Rome...

Thanks for reading!


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